In the Odyssée, the reunion between Ulysses and his dog Argos ranks among the most moving scenes of all ancient literature. They also reveal the essential role that animals played in the daily lives of the Greeks. The Odyssée by Homer, with its fabulous monsters and breathless narrative of human endurance, was an ideal candidate for the latest Hollywood blockbuster by Christopher Nolan. But amid this excess of fantasy and heroic dramas, two much simpler scenes figure among the most memorable of the poem. Both feature animals. The first is the moving and tragically brief reunion between the hero (played in the film by Matt Damon) and his faithful dog Argos. A very sober episode, which nevertheless strongly illuminates the major themes of the Odyssée: patience, loyalty and loss. The second shows the anthropophagous cyclops revealing, against all expectations, a more tender side. He addresses his favorite ram by calling it Pepon, an affectionate term that Homer otherwise reserves for close friends and family members. The cyclops asks aloud whether the animal suffers from the loss of his master’s eye or whether it shares his desire for revenge. These two episodes illustrate Homer’s remarkable ability to ground the heroic world in the full richness of the human experience, while highlighting the fundamental bonds between humans and the natural world. The flourishing universe of Homeric heroes is not limited to fabulous monsters, all-powerful deities and aristocrats: it is also populated by ordinary men and women, as well as animals. The bonds that link humans and animals, whether they are working companions or not, are abundantly represented in the literature as well as in the visual arts of ancient Greece. Ulysses’ wife, Penelope, owns domestic geese that, she says, "warm her heart" when she sees them. In a dream, an eagle kills them, and Penelope weeps at their disappearance. In the other great epic of Homer, the Iliad, Hector asks his horses to remember the sweet porridge that his wife prepared for them even before tending to his husband. As for Achilles’ horses, they mourn the death of his friend Patroclus. Frozen with grief, they remain motionless "like a column standing over the tomb of a man or a woman." From numerous studies it appears that working dogs as well as companion dogs are widely represented in Greek paintings and sculptures. The Beazley Archive ceramic database in Oxford lists more than 1,400 representations of dogs on vases dated from 700 to 200 BCE. Even older examples have also reached us. The collections of the British Museum include a Mycenaean period bowl (between 1750 and 1050 BCE), the era during which the Homeric epics take place. It shows a man struggling to control two particularly spirited small dogs held on leashes. Although evidence of the use of dogs in war by the Greeks remains limited, vase paintings depicting warriors saying goodbye to their families often show a dog. This dog can be interpreted as either accompanying the warrior into battle or as remaining with those who stay at home. In a more domestic register, dogs appearing under the banquet beds of men participating in a symposium, where wine is drunk (and other bodily pleasures are indulged), constitute a recurring theme in Greek iconography. This is the case, for example, of a famous Corinthian vase dating from 600 to 590 BCE. If dogs, especially hunting dogs, can appear in art and on funerary monuments as markers of social status, they are also represented in scenes that suggest a genuine bond of affection. A relief discovered in Sparta shows a man sitting, surrounded by the attributes of his rank, while a small dog stands against his knees to attract his attention. On the funerary reliefs of classical Athens, these small dogs constitute a recurring motif. They most often accompany young characters, and particularly children. One of the most well-known examples is the funerary monument of the young Euchalia. She is seen there surrounded by her parents, her grandmother and a small dog standing on its hind legs, with its paws placed against her knees. It is likely a Maltese dog (Canis melitaeus), a small companion dog renowned in antiquity for its affectionate and gentle nature. Dogs were not always viewed positively in the ancient world: the word "dog" was used as an insult, as well as towards women and men in Homeric epics. But the loyalty of Argos testifies both to the value of Ulysses in the eyes of his own society and to that of this society itself, despite the upheavals and decline it is undergoing. If Ulysses’ return to Ithaca is essential, it cannot succeed without the support of humble and deeply human characters such as the swineherd Eumaeus. And he may also need the intimate confirmation provided by the unshakable loyalty of Argos. The episode of Argos echoes the beginning of Book XIV, when Ulysses returns home for the first time. The guard dogs of the swineherd Eumaeus’ farm do not recognize him and are about to attack him: "And immediately the barking dogs saw Ulysses, and they ran howling; but Ulysses full of cunning sat down, and the staff fell from his hand. Then he would have suffered an ignoble treatment at the stable which was his; but the swineherd ran quickly with his swift feet; and the hide fell from his hands and, crying out, he drove the dogs away with stones." This scene strongly recalls how long Ulysses’ absence has been and how much he and his homeland have become strangers to each other. This contrast is reinforced when his son, Telemachus, arrives in turn: the same dogs greet him with the affection that Argos will later show towards Ulysses. This scene painfully echoes the one where Ulysses helplessly watches the affectionate reunion between the swineherd Eumaeus and his own son, Telemachus, who does not recognize him. They embrace "as a father and his son." A cruel reminder of all that Ulysses has lost during his long absence. In the story of Argos, the Odyssée skillfully blends realism, irony and emotion. Homer contrasts the dog’s strength in his youth with the state of abandonment in which he finds himself when he finally reunites with his master: lying on a pile of manure, covered in parasites. The emotional bond between the two is intact, but the physical reunion is impossible. Despite his erect ears and wagging tail, Argos is too weak to approach Ulysses. As for Ulysses, deeply moved, he does not dare let it be known that he has recognized him, for fear of revealing his identity at a critical moment, when the suitors vying for Penelope are ready to kill him. In a touching and comforting ending, the loyal companion has the chance to see his master one last time before dying. But these incomplete reunions leave a feeling of thwarted fulfillment that highlights the darkest side of Ulysses’ story: despite everything he has regained, certain losses caused by such a long absence can never be repaired. Heroism and heroic exploits occupy a central place in the Homeric poems and are constantly celebrated. But these works also pay tribute to the ordinary relationships between humans and animals. They mourn the fragility of these bonds as much as they celebrate their beauty, suggesting that these bonds are as valuable as the exploits of heroes, if not more so, because they outlive them.